


i could feel myself growing colder

by ghostsongs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-25
Updated: 2010-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsongs/pseuds/ghostsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam misses Jess so much it hurts. The loss feels like a blade being thrust into his body, his skull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i could feel myself growing colder

**Author's Note:**

> Coda fic for the Season 1 Pilot.

_  
“What would I do without you?” – Sam  
“Crash and burn.” - Jessica  
_

  


      
He misses her so much it hurts.

The loss feels like a blade being thrust into his body, his skull. His heart aches with every beat, twinges painfully as the blood pounds through his veins. Even in the darkness behind Sam’s closed eyelids, the tongues of fire licking at her body are shockingly vivid.

He forces his eyes open, only to find Dean staring at him, the unspoken _are you okay?_ hanging in the still air. Sam doesn’t bother with replying, knows Dean can easily see through the veneer of calm on his face. Knows Sam’s not okay, won’t ever be okay. Not anymore.

 _Jess. Oh, Jess…_

Sam wants to crawl into the backseat of the Impala and drown in his grief. He’s tired, so goddamn tired, but he won’t risk sleep. Only nightmares and memories of her, of them, will plague him if he succumbs (too much like Hell, not enough like the oblivion he needs).  
scarlet and gold (it was almost beautiful, that destructive force). a rush of scorching, asphyxiating heat. the carbon odor of burnt flesh. fear and misery on her pale face. Sam nearly cries out in agony, as the night’s events flash before his mind’s eye.

He wants Dean to drive faster, or just leave him alone on the side of the road. He wants to be able to shout at the sky, at the demon, at _God_ , loud and merciless, wanton. He wants to disappear, fall into nothingness. He wants, wants, wants. _Needs_. But no, he can’t do that to Dean, can’t abandon him again. Not like this, not now. He knows he needs his brother, that maybe he’s the only one who can save Sam, make him… forget. God, how he wants to forget, pretend that the fire and the demon never happened, existed (but nothing, not alcohol nor sheer will can fix that now).

Sam spends the rest of the drive remembering or forgetting (he doesn’t really know which). Everything else passes in a seemingly drunken blur: arriving at yet another seedy motel, Dean asking for two singles, being dragged into a room. He’s vaguely aware of dropping his duffel next to one of the bedside tables and sitting on a bed. Dean plops down on the bed across from his, opening his mouth as if to say something, offer his condolences, or maybe nothing at all. He closes it with an audible click of teeth, the expression on face nearing something like sympathy and shared loss.

But Dean doesn’t understand. He can’t. Mom’s the only loved one in his life who’s died and Dean was only four, not old enough to feel the sharp pain of absence. Not like Sam, who’s just lost the woman he thought he was going to marry, love forever. _Jess, baby…_ Unless Dad, or Sam himself, died, Dean would never be able to empathize with Sam’s loss. He’s never loved a woman like Sam loved Jess. She made him happy, at peace. He was never like that with Dad, always not good enough for him. But Jess… she didn’t mind his faults, loved them, in fact. She took away most of the guilt he had for leaving his family, along with almost all his regrets.  
“I’m fine, Dean. _Really_. Just a bit tired.” He lies through clenched teeth and Dean knows, has disbelief written across his face. Dean always knows, knows Sam like no one else in the world. Not even Jess knew him like Dean does.

“Bullshit, Sammy.” Dean huffs out, raising an eyebrow. “I think I know you better than that. Just… get some sleep, okay?” _Since I know you aren’t gonna tell me anything_ is left unspoken.

“Yeah. Sure.” They’re the last words he speaks that night.

Dean strips down to his boxers, shoots one last worried look at Sam, and slides into his bed. Sam ignores him and attempts to go through his nightly ritual. But every limb feels bogged down, heavy, like he’s drowning, suffocating. He tries to find comfort in the normalcy of his actions, the mindlessness of habit.

 _Normal?_ He almost laughs at the thought. After everything he’s been through, everything he worked for, to get away from hunting and from his father, to be normal. It was all a waste. Jess was gone and his last ties to a normal, safe life was destroyed along with her. Every dream disintegrated into dust. Sam was going to marry her, goddamnit. They were going to have a happy apple-pie life, a _safe_ life. One filled with children and a successful law firm. Rich. Comfortable. Happy. No supernatural creatures to fight and kill. No nightmares, no regular trips to the hospital, no drunk and obsessive father to deal with. Only Jess and everything that came with a life alongside her.

Sam almost tries to blame Dean for taking him away from her. For not letting him stay in Palo Alto to protect her. For dragging him back into the family business, into the constant horror and violence associated with that life. He wants so badly to hold Dean responsible for her death, absolve himself from his multitude of sins. But he won’t. Can’t.

It was his fault, all his fault, and Sam is clearly, painfully, aware of it. He dragged Jess into the family curse by getting close to her, loving her. If he had never let her into his life, she wouldn’t be dead. He should have dealt with the feelings of loneliness, instead of trying to replace Dean with someone innocent, ordinary. Family is all he has now, _Dean_ is all he has. The guilt is threatening to destroy him.

Scratchy sheets and a hard mattress. The bed is cold, so cold. It feels like it’s missing something, someone. Sam can practically feel Jessica’s comforting arm around his waist; her head nestled in the crook of his neck and the length of her body pressing against his. But it’s only his overactive imagination, cruel delusions. _She’s gone for good._ And he can do nothing about it.

He tries to stay awake, but exhaustion creeps over him like a shadow, slowly numbing every inch of his body. He’s powerless, can’t fight it off. At the same time, cold fear grips him. Doesn’t want to see Jess burning again, _dying_ again. Over and over. But Sam’s at the end of his game, not nearly strong enough to keep his eyes open. He falls (crashing violently, he’s sure) into a disturbed and tormented sleep, the fire ever present.

When the sun rises over the dead, grey sky, anger and vengeance have replaced the grief and loss. Yet, the agony remains, permeating every action, every word, every thought.  


  



End file.
